Under the Stairs
by Bouncebackability
Summary: A primary school aged Harry is in the cupboard under the stairs, and ends up in 1997


Harry James Potter wasn't afraid of the dark anymore, aged 5 he had spent as much of his life as he could remember living in a cupboard under the stairs with the only light coming from the air vent in the door. Harry had given up hoping his mum and dad would come back. They had died and he couldn't even remember them anymore, killed in a car crash which only Harry survived albeit with a gash shaped like a lightening bolt on his forehead. Harry didn't mind the scar, it made him unique and he found it reassuring, a permanent reminder of his parents.

Harry closed his eyes tight, hoping to be anywhere which wasn't here, the Dursley's were out at the local parents evening for an hour or so, so Harry was locked in the cupboard where it was figured that he couldn't cause any harm and no matter how good the report was when Uncle Vernon got back he would be miffed about something and see this as an excuse to punish Harry. Weather is was a story showing too much imagination, a piece of art which looked like something out of the ordinary or even the teacher saying that Harry was an isolated child (that one seemed to come up a lot).

Uncle Vernon seemed to believe Harry was a bad child who needed no encouragement, yet he would overlook the gaping faults in his own son, Dudley. Last year he had been caught red handed putting PVA glue into Kiera Mather's hair and yet Uncle Vernon didn't punish him, even as Kiera came in the next day with an almost shaved head because they couldn't remove the stuff. Dudley thought it was hilarious.

Harry on the other hand attracted trouble; one of the student teachers at Little Whinging CP once described him as "the ultimate shit magnet", after getting over the shock of a teacher swearing at school Harry couldn't help admit it was true. Weird things happened around Harry, he once turned his reception teacher's wig blue and once when he was being yelled at the library trolley rammed itself into the wall. One thing was certain though, even if it was something harmless like a door shutting on its own, Harry would get punished as if it was something he had any control over.

Harry hated his life; those dreams which didn't feature around magic and flying motorcycles were usually about some unknown relative suddenly coming into the picture and rescuing Harry from the evil Dursley's. Maybe one day he's get a pair of jeans which weren't hand-me-downs, even a cheap pair from Asda would do, or his own room with a bed instead of a propped up mattress. It was too much to hope for but Harry dreamed about it regardless. If you didn't have you dreams what else did you have?

Curled up in a ball Harry thought about the future, about what he would be doing in 10 or 15 years, would he be at Stonewall High or would he go to the grammar school? Somehow he doubted the latter, the chances of someone paying for him to go to a public school were remote, and it would be state education all the way no doubt. Dudley on the other hand would probably go to Smeltings; a boarding school Uncle Vernon himself went to, it seemed to admit anyone as long as you paid them enough money.

Harry pressed his face further into his knees to the point he could feel his glasses pressing into his nose, but this didn't bother him. He was used to worse. If only he could one day escape this cupboard he thought over and over in his head, occasionally repeating it out load like some kind of mantra. Suddenly Harry felt like how he thought going on The Big Dipper at Blackpool felt, his stomach did summersaults and he felt like he was falling through darkness. This had to be a dream, or maybe the clout Uncle Vernon gave him this afternoon, which was starting to leave a deep purple bruise on his face, had resulting in a little concussion. That would be it, what did the letter at school say? "Dear parent/guardian, your child has had a slight bump on the head today. While he/she seems to be alright please watch out for signs of sickness and dizziness which may be signs of delayed concussion. Yours sincerely B Commerford (Headmistress)". That is exactly what was happening. Harry closed his eyes waiting to lose consciousness.

Eventually the dizziness passed but the panic meant that Harry would almost certainly be unable to sleep. He lay in his cupboard, his eyes staring unblinkingly at the roof above. Harry was used to funny spells, being the favourite target of the school bully meant that he had more than once been knocked unconscious. Harry hated the feeling but knew it would almost certainly be fine now, well until Vernon got back at anyways.

The door went, the familiar sound of metal locks being undone before the slight creak from the seal before the people entered and the door was shut with a dull thud. Harry made no sound under his cupboard hoping if they didn't hear him they might leave the punishment for tomorrow. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's voice were instantly recognisable along with an older boy's, a deep voice Harry had never heard before. The group went o the kitchen and the usual kitchen noises could be heard in the background before the trio retired to bed, the older man also went upstairs, this didn't surprise Harry, he was right down low on the list of priorities to tell about news, he'd be surprised if the guest even knew he lived here. Punishment would wait tonight.

Harry looked under his mattress for the book he stashed there a couple of nights ago for this very eventuality of being unable to sleep. Harry once found a torch in the shelving of his cupboard and thanks to Dudley forever falling out with his toys it was easy enough to get batteries for it. He swung under his bed looking for both items, searching as quietly as he could to ensure no on would wake up and punish him. Much to Harry's surprise there was a large trunk under the mattress making it impossible to search for his book, although the torch was still hidden under the mattress. Aunt Petunia must have stored it in there when Harry was at school on that day, but as it was in his cupboard and no one was about it wouldn't hurt to look inside.

The manoeuvre was tricky, despite trying to open the door it was still locked and the room only just fit the mattress in it, Harry had to push the mattress up to open the lip of the trunk, he was surprised at his own strength when he managed it. The trunk was made of that hard leather coated cardboard stuff really old suitcases were made of, opening the trunk the first thing which greeted Harry was a broomstick, but a sleek one with tapered twigs at the end which would suggest that it would be useless for sweeping with, it was almost as if it was some kind of ornament, it had been highly polished and obviously looked after. Why would Aunt Petunia buy such a broom, she hated odd things and she couldn't shut up about the new Vax she had bought. Moving the broom onto the bed, and still listening out for any sound from upstairs other than the usual snoring Harry continued to rummage.

The trunk seemed to contain lots of books, Harry immediately threw these onto the bed and decided to look at them afterwards, they were large leather-bound books which where made of a thick parchment. Maybe they were props for a play at school or antiques. Still seemed like an odd collection for a woman so obsessed with order though. There were lots of clothes, mainly black cloaks and almost tunic like tops. Not dresses, almost like what vicars were. There was no doubt in Harry's mind now that these must be props for a play. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't approve of imagination but getting one over on the Jones' meant they would volunteer for anything in the school PTA. This was obviously one such job. One of the cloaks was made of a light watery material; Harry let it flow over his fingers as he put in on the bed, if he wasn't scared of the consequences he would keep that for himself. A few quills and parchment where at the bottom of the trunk, along with some pads which looked like they were for cricket and a wash bag. Then in the far corner was a little blue bag, like one you would get at Sports Connection but made out of black. Harry put this on the bed and put the clothes back into the trunk with the broom and the book. He hoped Aunt Petunia didn't notice the order, he very much doubted she had even look in there from the disorganisation though.

Pushing the mattress back down over the trunk Harry sat crossed legged on his bed, torch lying on his bed at an angle which minimized the spooky elongated shadows which made it difficult to see. He opened the draw string at the top of the bag and emptied the contents onto his bed. A flute, a photo album, some letters, a woolly jumper and a couple of bags of what looked like sweets. Harry looked at the letters to find them all addressed to him, angry that someone had been reading his mail he looked inside each one.

_Harry_

_Hope the muggles are treating you right. Coming to get you tomorrow, Ginny's sorted your room and won't let anyone else near it. I fear for you, if it's pink I know a good colour changing charm. You'll be at The Burrow for your birthday, hope that's OK... Hermione is coming over too. See you soon_

_Ron._

That was most peculiar, it made no sense to Harry, who were Ron and Hermione, why would they be coming tomorrow and what is a muggle? He moved onto the next one which was easier to read, it was in perfect writing.

_Dear Harry_

_Have you been reading The Prophet? They love you at the moment, I think they are hoping you won't sue about fifth year. _

_You're going to The Burrow on Friday, I hear. It's about time too, leaving those muggles for good. I'm going there for a week starting Monday so I'll be seeing you soon; sort of glad I've got a few days though. We still have that essay for Snape to do, I'm wondering if I should comment about the muggle homeopathic uses of arnica or would that be too much, I don't want to go too far over with Snape._

_See you soon_

_Hermione_

So, that's Hermione. Still nothing made sense though, who were The Prophet and why did they love him, where was he going this week and why would he have to write an essay for someone he's never heard of. Nothing made sense. Desperate for some answers he looked through the letters for a different handwriting, and eventually found one.

_Hello Harry_

_Sorry we've not been telling you much, you know why though. Me and Buckbeak are alright, moved back in with my delightful mother, lots of people passing by._

_See you at Easter._

_Snuffles._

Ok, so now he supposedly knew someone called Snuffles; that sounded like a dog's name. This letter seemed older than the rest, it was creased and the paper felt dirtier. These letters were confusing. They must have been sent in error or at least were for a different Harry and for some reason Aunt Petunia had used envelopes from his letters. It made no sense and still meant his post had been stolen but it was the only logical explanation.

Harry was bored of the letters so opened up the photo album, and almost dropped it when he noticed the photo was moving. Now THAT was odd, Harry had never seen anything like it before in his life, it wasn't even like a holographic card, it was almost like watching a silent TV. The photo was of 4 boys all dressed in robes, one with dark hair tied back in a ponytail that was jumping on the back of a taller, thin and sickly looking boy with mousey hair who was laughing. A short fat boy was in the background, obviously longing to join in yet slightly outside the action. The fourth boy looked almost like Harry, same messy hair and specs. Different eyes and about 10 years older but they definitely looked alike. If Harry hadn't put this whole situation down to concussion he would have sworn he was family.

There were loads of moving photos in the album, there were some more of the boys and a few which all had a ginger girl with bright green eyes. Eventually the Harry look a like and the red head got married, and then they had a kid. A kid with green eyes and messy black hair. The first one he saw made Harry cry, he knew exactly what he was looking at, it was his family. His mum, his dad and him all together and looking happy, from the way he played with his mum's hair to the way his dad took it in turns to kiss his son and wife. The smiles of all three weren't fixed, they were genuine. He continued seeing more and more photos, one of him lying on the long-haired boy's chest, both obviously fast asleep, making absolutely no movement apart from their long breaths.

Harry's face was wet with tears; he could taste the salt on his lips from where the trials had gone over his lips. Years of living with the Dursley's had taught him how to cry silently but this was too much. Why didn't anyone show him this book before now? He saw he was once loved, and people once cared about him. He didn't care that the pictures moved or how they did, all he cared about was that he finally had proof he had parents and Aunt Petunia had kept it from him all these years. He had never known he had his mum's green eyes or his dad's messy hair. He still didn't even know their names. His knowledge of his parents was limited to the fact his mum was Aunt Petunia's sister and both parents had died in a car crash he had survived.

Taking a deep breath Harry was ready to continue. He looked through the photos of himself as a baby until they abruptly were stopped. The people in the picture had suddenly changed; a tall freckly red head and bushy brown haired girl stood either side of a boy who looked just like Harry, the image of the boy on the earlier pages but with green eyes and a slightly skinnier build. Harry even convinced himself he saw a bit of a scar underneath his fringe, but he knew that was impossible. The three were laughing and waving at the camera, the next was the dark haired boy with a large family of red heads, obviously related to the one on the page before. They were having some kind of barbeque and piles of food were lined up along the table. The photos mainly centred round these people, there were a couple of others occasionally including a plump dark haired boy and a gaunt man who this look-a-like obviously cared about, the photo showed them having a pillow fight, in the background was the mousy haired man from the photographs before. Harry felt envious of this boy, maybe he was his brother. They certainly looked alike, who knows how many secrets were being kept from him.

The last photo wasn't stuck in the book, it was lose and showed the same trio as were in the first one, they looked older, in their late teens as opposed to their pre-teen appearance on the first one. The photograph however had a note on the back

July 1997 - End of sixth year, end of the war

Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter (the three teens who defeated the dark lord)

(Now that sounded big headed, Weasley)

(So? We did didn't we)

(I'm with Ron on this one, Harry. For once stand up and take the credit. You deserve it)

The book was a hoax, a clever hoax and a good piece of technology but still a hoax. Harry was 5, not a teenager and everyone knew that, the year wasn't 1997 and no matter how much the boy in the photos looked like him it couldn't actually be him. Harry threw everything back into the bag and threw it into the trunk in anger.

He sat on his mattress and bit his lip. Determined not to show his anger and give away what he had been doing. Eventually sleep overcame the little boy.

Harry was woken by yelling; unusually it wasn't directed at him, as someone was replying. Looking through the grill to his cupboard Harry could see Vernon shouting at someone, but he couldn't see who, they were probably on the stairs.

"You told those freaks to pick you up from here? How are they getting here?" He yelled, going crimson in the face with the effort.

"I don't know, but Fred and George won't be coming this -" The calm yet strained voice came from the stairs, it was obviously forced. Whoever this person was wasn't the same adult voice as the night before but still seemed teenage.

"I don't care; I don't want those freaks in my house"

"Well they are coming anyway, in half an hour I will leave and never come back and you won't ever have to worry about freaks on your doorstep again."

"You better make sure to that, when they finally get here you can get your stuff and leave."

"My pleasure" The young man finally spat, as Uncle Vernon staggered through to the front room, looking worse for wear, the argument obviously flustered him. Harry could here the guy sit on the steps, obviously waiting for his visitors to come. Harry did this, but only when no one was around. The stairs were oddly comfortable although honestly he did like the quiet of the cupboard, especially at moments like this when he was locked away and Uncle Vernon had forgotten. In 3 hours when the hunger kicked in he might change his mind but at the moment he was happy.

A loud bang came from the front room, and dust started billowing out, Harry tried to get out of his cupboard fearing something had crashed into the house but over the commotion no one could hear him and the door was still locked.

The boy on the stairs had ran straight into the living room, although the dust made it impossible to see who he was and one in the font room he was out of sight. The newcomers must have come through the back garden and through the conservatory. It was rare fro anyone to use the back door unless working in the garden or during a barbeque.

"Hiya Ron! Mr Weasley, thank you for coming to get me."

"No problem, I trust you are well."

"Never been better."

A new voice came into the conversation, a younger voice" Well, as much as I'd love to stay...I'll go and get your stuff. Usual place?"

"Yeah, you enjoying being able to use that thing outside of school now"

"Of course, and you only have 4 days left".

The whole conversation made no sense to Harry, not least why no one seemed to care about the dust and why Vernon and the rest of the Dursley's where deadly silent and Harry didn't have a clue what was happening in four days which meant the boy could use something. 4 days was 31st July, Harry's birthday but he didn't know anything else which happened on it.

"Actually boys, you go ahead and I'll get your stuff, Ok?" There were no audible protests so the boys must have decided to go and exit through the back door again.

A tall man walked into the hallway, wearing long robes similar to the ones in the trunk. He must be part of the play; Harry didn't want to think about the Dursley's pulling a sick joke on him. The man pulled out a long stick and muttered something in Latin resulting in the door being thrown wide open.

Harry squinted as light flooded into his cupboard, the man looked familiar but he couldn't quite place him.

"Oh, hello there. Sorry to disturb you. I'm just getting Harry's trunk. Are you a relation? What were you doing in the cupboard?" The man said, tugging at the large trunk under the, mattress.

"I don't think so; the only family I know are the Dursleys. I'm in the cupboard because I sleep here."

"That's odd, Harry never mentioned you. This used to be his cupboard you know, when he was little. If you are related to the Dursley's you must know about Harry. I know they lock him up but you 2 really do look alike".

"I don't know this Harry; I'm the only Harry who lives here." Harry said, starting to get annoyed at the man. He was acting like he was a time traveller or something. Either he was taking the drama too far or the Dursley's were sick.

"Er, Harry. What is your last name?"

"Potter, but I guess you know that. Is this a joke? Are you trying to make me think that I have other family or something or that I've grown up?"

The man shrunk back a little just as Uncle Vernon came in, apparently now feeling much better, "What are you up to, freak. And who's the boy? Another good-for-nothing Potter. Are you not taking the boy away, are you just swapping him?" Vernon sprayed the ginger he spat out each word with such passion.

"No, no, nothing like that. I think we had better be going." The man said, lifting up the trunk and looking directly at Harry

"Yeah, and you can take your freak with you" Vernon spat; all these years of insults Vernon had never made it so clear he didn't want Harry there. He had actually told a total stranger to take him. He couldn't deny though, the drama man was a bit of a freak.

"You want to come, Harry?" Despite wanting to leave the Dursley's more than anything he wasn't playing into the hands of a sicko. He shook his head, surprisingly Vernon grabbed his wrist.

"I don't know who you are but you are not staying here. GO!" Vernon yelled, throwing Harry into the front room.

"Yes sir". He decided not to push his luck anymore. It would be better to be humiliated than beaten."

The red headed man threw some powder into the flames of the fire which suddenly became green, "If you come with me I'll make sure that you will be alright." Harry followed the man as he stepped into the fire, every inch of him telling him fire was bad pushed to the back of his mind. The trunk was upright on the other side of Harry. "Headmaster's office, Hogwarts" The man said and with that Harry felt himself spinning round fast, as the mans hand wrapped closer around him. Eventually the spinning stopped and the pair stepped out of a different fireplace.

"How-" Harry said but was cut off.

"Magic, we'll tell you more later; but first we need to speak with Dumbledore. I'm Arthur by the way." The man said.

An old man entered the room; dressed in long purple robes with a white beard so long it was tucked into his belt and behind half moon spectacles blue eyes twinkled. "Ah, Arthur, take a seat. And who is your friend?" He said, gesturing for the pair to sit.

"Well Sir, I think it's Harry. We went to pick him up today, as you know he is moving in with us, and after the boys went I got his trunk and this boy was sitting in the cupboard."

The older man directed his gaze straight at Harry, "Well, I see you look just like Harry. What happened?"

Harry shrugged, he didn't know.

"Ah, you don't know. Well in that case neither do I, at least not for the time being. What did the older Harry say?" Dumbledore looked back at Arthur.

"He doesn't know yet, but he won't remember this anyway because otherwise he would know about you and magic before Hogwarts."

"I suppose that is true. I cannot deny this is most peculiar, but I know this boy is Harry. I believe Molly will have no objections to providing Bed and Breakfast for our guest?"

"Molly won't have a problem looking after him but are you sure it's good to have the same person in the same house?"

"It'll work out, trust me. No doubt this whole experience will be passed off as childish folly, children integrate and adapt faster than adults." Dumbledore said, hiding a smile behind his white beard. "Now I think you 2 should be going, Molly will be getting worried, especially after last time."

Arthur lifted Harry onto his hip and went back into the fire, repeating the previous process; he yelled the burrow and after a few seconds came out of the fire place, still clutching the trunk upended.

* * *

**This got written ages ago, and it's bugging me lurking in my document manager, even though I've not touched the rest of it for a good few months.**

**If you like it please review, and ideas on where I can take it will be greatly welcomed. **

**And is that fecking Crazy Frog in the corner irritating anyone else? **


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